


Contention

by umathurman



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Begging, Dom/sub, Hate Sex, Humiliation, M/M, Prostitution, Rough Sex, light exhibitionism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 22:26:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3586314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umathurman/pseuds/umathurman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt on the kink meme:</p><p>"Anders has a hard time focusing without regular rough sex. He needs to be put on his knees and made to beg. For ~handwavey~ reasons, he's lost whatever his usual outlet for his desires is and Fenris reluctantly steps up to help him out-- for the good of the mission, of course. I'm not looking for super submissive Anders; still snarky, just also desperate for cock & humiliation."</p><p>Apologies if you've already read this; I had to repost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contention

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry to anyone who was subscribed or commented on this on my other account, I was getting really paranoid about IRL folks discovering my explicit porn and so I've created a new account. There is a sequel intended eventually, but so far my muse hasn't taken the bait.

Anders casts mindless spell after mindless spell, slowly chipping away at the spider attacking him. There’s nervous energy buzzing inside of him, but he can’t seem to turn it into the adrenaline he needs to get through this battle; instead, he’s buried half inside his own head. The spider is coming closer to him, and he almost forgets to blast it backwards. Why does Hawke insist on dragging them from place to place without a moment’s rest? A few days at home would do wonders for all of them.

“Anders!” Hawke yells, and he spins around to see Fenris already collapsing.

“Shit,” he mutters, and quickly revives the warrior. Fenris stumbles to his feet, but he’s clearly moments from passing out again, and when Anders goes to quickly heal him he realizes he’s out of mana.

“Lyrium potion!” Hawke calls, unmistakeable exasperation in her voice. “Take a lyrium potion!”

But by the time Anders manages to fumble one out of his belt, Fenris has already been overrun by spiders again.

The battle goes on for almost three times as long as it should have done. By the time Hawke has collected the last spider fang, the aggravation in the air is palpable. It stirs something in Anders’ gut. He’s frustrated with himself—he doesn’t get off on feeling incompetent—but the hint of aggression sparks up his spine. It’s been weeks, and it’s too easy to picture himself falling to his knees and apologizing properly for his shortcomings.

“I fail to see why you tolerate the mage’s presence if he can’t even perform the basic tasks required of him,” Fenris snarls as they start to trudge back towards Kirkwall.

Anders wishes he had a snappy comeback, but he certainly doesn’t trust himself to speak to Fenris right now. Isabela and Hawke are bad enough. Every time they talk to him in that casually condescending tone, all amused and mocking, his cock takes interest. But Fenris? Every word and movement the elf makes towards him suggests the kind of hard, rough fucking that Anders is aching for.

“Honestly, Anders, you’re all but useless if you don’t get to see your whore every few days,” Hawke says, smiling a little to take the sting out of her words. “I might have to start booking your appointments myself. What’s the man’s name? Adriano?”

Anders feels his whole face flush. He doesn’t bother asking how Hawke knows; between Varric and her endless web of contacts in the city, she knows most of what happens in Kirkwall. He can only hope that perhaps she isn’t aware of Adriano’s… specialties.

He’s half-aware of Fenris’s contemptuous commentary about the kind of lowlife that frequent brothels, but most of his attention is on trying to will his cock to stay soft. Normally he can distinguish between the bad kind of embarrassment that comes from true shame, and the sweet humiliation he feels when Adriano puts him in his place. Today, the lines are dangerously blurred. He knows that once he’s back in his right mind, he’ll be properly horrified that everyone knows just how much time he spends at The Blooming Rose… but for now, he imagines his companions watching as he takes Adriano’s cock, providing sarcastic encouragement.

He shakes himself, impatient, and is grateful for his loose mage’s robes.

-

Anders makes a point of seeing Adriano every five or six days, once they get back. It’s expensive and Hawke doesn’t pay him so well he can justify it, but it’s preferable to dying of distraction. He feels settled in his skin in a way that’s new to him, and he suspects the others can tell, although they never mention Adriano again. Between his clinic, adventures with Hawke, and the time he spends at the Blooming Rose, he barely has a moment to worry about templars or work on his manifesto.

It’s almost a month and a half later when he finds himself once again on his knees, sucking Adriano’s cock. He’s completely naked, hands bound behind his back, while the whore is fully clothed. Adriano’s hands are tangled in his hair, forcing his head up and down as he pleases.

“Pretty little slut,” he murmurs, and Anders’ cock jumps. “There are dozens of men downstairs looking for a warm hole, perhaps we ought to pass you around. Doubtless Madam Lusine would even give you a share of the profits.” He rams his cock into Anders’ throat with a hard thrust, and his eyes fill involuntarily with tears.

Of course, that’s the moment when the door bangs open.

“Mage!” a voice barks.

Anders pulls away immediately, painfully aware of the saliva and precome smeared over his lips. With his hands behind him, there’s no way of hiding his hard cock.

“I have been sent to inform you that Hawke has need of us,” Fenris says. “I trust you will be able to find your way to Hightown when you are… finished.”

Anders turns himself towards him, an awkward endeavor in his current position. Fenris is frozen in the doorway, a flush on his cheeks. Is it just his imagination, or is there a slight bulge in the elf’s ridiculously tight leggings? After a few silent moments, it becomes clear that he isn’t intending to leave without a verbal confirmation.

“Um, yes,” Anders says, his voice raw and hoarse. “Hightown. Right. Perhaps you ought to knock next time.”

With a curt nod, Fenris vanishes, the door closing softly behind him.

“Time out,” Adriano says immediately. “Are you alright, darling?”

“I…” Anders mumbles, unable to think through the rising arousal. “I need you to fuck me.”

“Good boys ask nicely,” Adriano says.

Normally Anders would make him work for it, draw him into a battle that would end in Anders losing in the most delightful way. But there’s no room for games in the desperate desire wracking his body.

“Please,” he begs. He turns his back to Adriano and presses his forehead to the floor, presenting himself as best he can without his hands to support him. “Please, I need it, I need it now.”

Adriano prepares him quickly, avoiding the place inside of him that makes him squirm with delight. It feels simultaneously like a bare moment and an eternity as slick fingers push inside of him, stretching his entrance and making him moan. He’s aware that he’s still begging, entreaties falling out of his lips without his consent.

When Adriano pushes inside of him, he moans. The first few thrusts are exactly what he needs—hard and rough, claiming his body from the inside out. The human is relentless, grabbing hold of his bound wrists with one hand and using the other to press his head hard against the floor. Anders feels like he’s flying—this, this is what he needs—

“He saw you,” Adriano whispers in his ear. “He saw you on your knees desperate for cock. He knows what you’re good for now. Every time you see him now, you’ll know that he knows what a dirty, desperate little whore you are.”

Anders comes without as much as a hand on his cock, choking out a desperate gasp.

-

It would all be fine if Fenris didn’t want to talk about it.

“I do not understand,” the warrior says stiffly, glancing forwards to where Isabela and Hawke are shamelessly flirting out of earshot. “The things he was saying to you were… degrading.”

Anders flushes. “Look, I realize your master probably didn’t teach you many manners, but it’s generally considered quite rude to burst into a private room unannounced. Especially when you’re well aware that people are having sex in it. It’s also rude to ask invasive questions about the sex you interfered with. See, we learned something today!”

“Danarius used to make similar threats of being… passed around,” the elf says in that infuriatingly sexy voice. “But his intention was to intimidate, not to arouse.”

“This is really none of your business,” Anders replies, hoping that will be the end of it.

“If you truly found is so terrible to be robbed of your autonomy in the Circle, how is it that you now seek it out for pleasure?”

“Perhaps it’s for the same reason you started dashing around as Hawke’s personal errand boy the moment the opportunity presented itself. You claim freedom is your heart’s desire, yet you follow her command as if she were your new master.” Anders intends his words to wound, but Fenris just looks curious.

“Then you see that whore of yours as a symbol of the templars?”

“No!” Anders exclaims, horror-struck. “No, that’s disgusting. I simply have certain inclinations, and satisfying them allows me to devote myself more fully to my responsibilities. Are you satisfied?”

Rather than wait for an answer, he accelerates his pace until he’s caught up to Hawke and Isabela.

-

It doesn’t take long for Anders to get careless again. Hawke is keeping him busy, and before he knows it it’s been two weeks and the itch has settled in under his skin. The moment they make it back to Kirkwall, he heads straight to the Blooming Rose. Madam Lusine sees him walk in and immediately rushes up to him.

“I’m afraid Adriano is rather unwell, but we have several others I’m sure could please you,” she says, smiling insincerely.

“Er, that’s okay,” Anders says. “Could I see him? I’m… familiar with medicine and such.”

She agrees without much fuss, and Anders hurries up the stairs. He finds Adriano bedridden and feverish.

“I’m afraid I’m not in much condition to please you,” he says with a wet-sounding cough.

It’s dangerous, technically, but he doesn’t think twice before allowing healing magic to gather in his palms. It’s the work of moments to clear up the worst of the symptoms.

“Your body needs time to recover,” he cautions after he’s done. “No clients for at least a week.”

“It’s… not often that you’re the one giving the orders,” Adriano says with a laugh. “Thank you.”

Anders leaves, unsatisfied and unsettled. Another week sounds unbearable, but so does the thought of leaving himself vulnerable to a new stranger. Trust is difficult for him—he never would have gone to Adriano to begin with if he hadn’t been desperate and drunk. He’ll just have to make it. He went most of his life without this, surely he can stand a few weeks?

-

“Anders, it wouldn’t kill you to pay some attention,” Hawke snarked. “But you know, no big deal, we’re just trying to prevent all-out war with the Qunari, I’m sure you have better things to think about.”

“I’m sorry, Hawke,” he says miserably.

He imagines her slapping him, snarling ‘Sorry isn’t good enough’, but she just gives him an impatient look and walks away. She’s never in a great mood when separated from Isabela, and her usually sharp wit has turned caustic. Varric gives Anders a sympathetic look.

He turns his attention to trying to mend Fenris. The elf has so many injuries he’s going in and out of consciousness, and Anders is forced to pour potions down his throat and use magic to guide their passage into his body. It’s hard, tedious work, and the hard guilt in his stomach doesn’t help at all. When he’s satisfied Fenris has been tended to, he stands up and wanders away, seeking out privacy behind some trees.

He feels wretched. If Isabela were here, he might consider approaching her and Hawke. He remembers Isabela, at least, as being delightfully wicked in bed. It wouldn’t satisfy him as well as being pushed down and taken, but it might serve. In absence of that, he had no choice but to try to hold himself together. He sits on the damp grass for a few moments, trying to find the calm place Adriano takes him beneath the storm of anxieties. It’s no use, and the more he tries the worse he feels. He sighs with frustration and flops backwards onto his back.

Perhaps it would help if he pleasured himself. He rarely dares to do so, sleeping side by side with his companions, and so he hasn’t had an orgasm since they’d left Kirkwall four days ago.

He pulls his robe open enough that his hand can sneak in, rubbing softly at his nipples. He thinks of Adriano at first, of the time he’d pulled him over his lap and smacked him on the bottom like a naughty child. The memory is enough for his cock to take interest in the proceedings, stiffening quickly. His fingers become rougher, pinching and tugging as he moans lightly.

“Unbelievable!”

Anders opens his eyes to find Fenris towering directly over him, pure fury in his eyes. He pulls his hand away with a sigh.

“Is this going to be our thing now? You interrupting me before I can orgasm? Because I haven’t agreed to that.”

“You nearly kill us all with your inattention, and rather than apologizing you sneak off to toy with yourself!” Fenris is clearly enraged, but his anger isn’t doing anything to calm Anders’ arousal. “I know mages are selfish, but this is a new low even for you.”

Anders climbs to his feet, backing instinctively away from the angry elf. So far, Fenris’ hands have stayed at his sides—but that doesn’t mean one won’t plunge into his chest at any second. He’s aware that the front of his robes is gaping open, displaying his bare chest and reddened nipples, but he has bigger concerns at the moment.

Fenris seizes him by the shoulders and Anders holds himself perfectly still.

“What kind of twisted harlot are you, that the simplest tasks escape you after a few days without cock?” Fenris snarls, and Maker if Anders doesn’t get a bit weak in the knees. The dirty word sounds positively sinful coming from his lips.

Fenris shoves him violently backwards. His back makes bruising contact with something hard and rounded behind him—a tree, his mind supplies—and unable to help himself, he moans.

“H-harlot?” he tries. “Really? What is this, one of Varric’s novels?”

The next moment, he’s being brutally kissed.

Fenris kisses like he fights, dirty and violent, and he’s keeping Anders caged up against the tree. Anders submits to the rough treatment but gives everything he has in return, twining his fingers in the elf’s hair and tugging. It goes on for what could be seconds or minutes—nothing matters expect for the heat twining in Anders’ gut, and the way his cock is pressed against Fenris’ leg.

Fenris pulls away, panting, and grabs Anders’ wrists, pinning them above his head.

“Is this what you want, mage?” he asks, making eye contact.

It’s his way of asking for consent, Anders realizes, so he nods silently.

“No,” Fenris says, quiet and deadly. “If you need it so desperately, you must ask for it.”

Anders feels a flicker of annoyance. “You’re enjoying this as much as I am,” he points out with a meaningful nod towards the clear arousal in the warrior’s leggings.

With no warning, Fenris bites savagely down on Anders’ neck. He sucks, hard, and the mixture of agony and pleasure sends sparks flying up and down Anders’ spine. He gasps, shocked and aroused, trying futilely to buck away from the tree. Fenris drags his mouth around his throat, discovering the places that take him apart, leaving him littered with love marks and panting for breath. Then, he steps away, leaving Anders to stumble in place.

“Ask,” he repeats, and Anders gives in.

“Take me,” he murmurs, and he reaches out and grabs Fenris’ cock through the cloth. “Fuck me until I can’t walk straight.”

Part of him is furious with himself. This is someone who believes wholeheartedly in the oppression of mages, who would probably cheer to see him locked up or made tranquil for the rest of his life. He’s everything Anders rages against. It’s one thing to debase himself in front of a male prostitute who didn’t even know he was a mage until a week ago; it’s another entirely to give an anti-mage advocate more ammunition.

That doesn’t stop him from staring straight into Fenris’ eyes and saying softly, “Please.”

They peel their clothes off silently. Fenris lays his sword down only a foot away, and Anders can see the apprehension in his face as he puts it down. He wants to speak up, to reassure him that despite Anders’ lack of combat abilities he’s more than capable of holding enemies off for the three seconds it would take the warrior to get to his weapon—but he stays quiet. There’s something vulnerable about this moment, both of them acknowledging what they want, electricity crackling in the air.

“We don’t have long before Hawke comes looking for us,” Fenris says after a moment.

Anders just stares at him. Of course, he’d known he must have an amazing body to be able to swing around that greatsword, but…

“Get on your knees, mage.”

“Make me,” Anders replies without even thinking.

The next thing he knows, his legs have been knocked out from under him and he’s sprawled in the grass, staring up at a smug elf. A hand in his hair drags him up until he’s staring directly at Fenris’s cock.

“We are lacking any form of lubrication, so I suggest you suck,” Fenris suggests.

Anders parts his lips and swallows Fenris down. Sucking cock is one of his talents; he knows damn well that he’s good at it, and he loves doing it. He bobs his head and flicks his tongue around the sensitive head, revelling in Fenris’ moans. He wonders if anyone has ever done this for him before. He reaches up with a hand and lightly massages Fenris’ testicles, gratified to hear a low moan.

It occurs to him that Fenris is right—Hawke could come looking for them at any moment. The idea of her seeing him on his knees, eagerly slurping down his rival’s cock, sends a shiver through him.

“Had I known this would silence you,” Fenris says as Anders swallows around him, “I would have tried it long ago.”

When Fenris finally pulls out of his mouth, Anders can’t hold back a whimper of disappointment. He stares up at him, aware of how vulnerable he must look with his lips swollen and his hair mussed. He’s surprised to see Fenris looking uncertain.

“What is it?” he asks.

“It is merely… Will saliva truly be enough?” Fenris asks, looking concerned.

Anders shakes his head. "No. But I have lyrium potion in my robes, it works just fine,” he says.

“Very well,” Fenris says, still looking doubtful. He fumbles in Anders’ robes until he finds the vial as the mage kneels on the ground, waiting. “I would have you on your back.”

Anders has been imagining being fucked against the tree, but he supposes the height difference would make that difficult. Still, he feels his cheeks go bright red as he nods his acquiescence. Fenris kneels in front of him and kisses him once, surprisingly soft this time, before he shoves him hard onto his back. Anders feels his dick surge so powerfully at the manhandling that he’s momentarily concerned he’s going to come. He watches the elf take the cork out of the potion and sniff at it before pouring it over his fingers.

“Lift your legs,” Fenris tells him.

Anders is no stranger to this position, but the rush of shame as he exposes himself to his rival is enough to prompt a few drops of precome falling from his cock. Fenris’ eyes are sharp and predatory; for several long moments, he just stares at Anders, examining his splayed legs and exposed genitals.

“You are a wanton whore,” he says, and there’s just enough hesitation behind it that Anders rolls his eyes.

“I don’t need you to call me names. Just shut up and put your fingers in me,” he snaps, but his legs inch further apart at the words.

He swears, choked, as Fenris does as he asked. The elf’s fingers are nimble and slim, and they’re surprisingly skilled as they press inside of him. He starts with two, and it’s just the right stretch. Anders can’t help but roll his hips a little, and he moans as fingertips brush over his prostate.

“Be still, mage,” Fenris commands, and Anders thinks it shouldn’t be hot to be referred to as ‘mage’ in that dehumanizing way.

"You-- you must have done this before," he stammers as Fenris' fingers twist just right inside of him.

“Once or twice, since I came to Kirkwall,” Fenris says. “Not a fraction as much as you have, I imagine. Tell me, how many men have you spread your legs for?” He slides in a third finger, scissoring them.

“Maker! I don’t—I don’t know,” Anders gasps. “I’m ready now, fuck me!”

“Not quite yet, I think,” Fenris says, and Anders opens his eyes to see him smirking. “Give me a rough estimate.”

The fingers rub hard against his prostate, merciless, and Anders can hardly think. “I—fifteen perhaps? More? I don’t know,” he admits. “I’m ready for your cock, Fenris, please.”

Fenris looks at him straight in the eyes, stares for a long moment, as he rubs lyrium potion onto his cock. Then he’s crawling over top of Anders, pressing their chests together, and thrusting in.

Anders is taken in one long, hard stroke. He shouts a little despite himself at the feeling of being deliciously filled. Fenris pulls almost all the way out again before ramming back in, and all Anders can do is toss his head back in pure pleasure. It hurts in the best way possible, and he’s barely aware of the litany of encouragement slipping from his lips as Fenris fucks into him again and again and again. Fenris bites at his neck, darkening his earlier marks, as he pounds him hard enough that Anders knows the trek back to Kirkwall will be painful. He wraps his legs around the elf and rolls his hips up into the thrusts.

“By the Maker, fuck me, yes!” he exclaims, aware that he sounds like a cheap whore but unable to keep the words in.

There’s so much sensation—for the first time since he last saw Adriano, he truly ceases to think about anything else. He’s reduced to nothing but a body, giving pleasure and taking it; this is what he needs, what he can’t live without.

“Pleasure yourself,” Fenris gasps.

Anders doesn’t hesitate to wrap a hand around his cock, tugging it in time with Fenris’ thrusts. He stares straight into his eyes, seeing the savage possession painted on his face. Fenris grabs his legs and forces them higher, his cock plunging deeper and hitting his prostate. Anders lets out a choked scream.

“I’m going to,” he gasps, “I’m going to come.”

Fenris seems to hear him, and starts to fuck him even harder. Anders feels a peculiar kind of pride at being able to take it as he strokes his cock, bucking desperately underneath Fenris. He allows the red hot pleasure to climb over him. With a half dozen hard, fast strokes, he’s screaming out his pleasure as he orgasms for what feels like hours.

-

By the time he comes back to himself, Fenris is half-clothed again. Anders doesn’t remember his orgasm, but he can feel cool sticky semen dribbling on his thighs. He looks up at the elf somewhat apprehensively, but all Fenris does is throw his robe at him.

Anders climbs gingerly to his feet, unable to even begin to catalogue all the ways his body is aching. But in spite of his physical discomfort, the uncomfortable buzz of disquiet that’s been haunting him for the last several weeks is gone. He looks down at his body and winces when he sees the bruises littering his collarbone, hips, and thighs. While he can’t see his neck and throat, he knows it must be twice as bad there.

“Do not take this to mean I like you, mage,” Fenris says gruffly. “You have been a liability.”

“Oh, so that’s why you did it, hm? To help me focus? That’s very thoughtful of you.” Anders would stop there, but Fenris growls and he can’t help himself. “I know you don’t have much experience, so I feel like it’s my duty to let you know that ‘Do not take this to mean I like you’ isn’t a great post-coital line.”

“Are you two done yet?”

They freeze and turn to see Hawke standing there, a smirk dancing on her lips.

“Poor Varric is beside himself. I can’t say I blame him,” she says wickedly. “It’s hard to set up camp to the sounds of ‘Ooh, Fenris, please, fuck me, by the Maker.’” Her breathy imitation of Anders’ begging brings new heat to his face.

“Apologies, Hawke,” Fenris says calmly.

“Oh, never apologize for making a boy scream,” she tells him cheerfully. “Truth be told, if you’re that good, I’m a bit jealous.”

Anders knows he’s red from head to toe. If he hadn’t just had the most intense orgasm of his life, he would be aroused again already.

“Two minutes, or we’re eating without you,” Hawke says, smiling, before turning and walking away.

Anders and Fenris slide on their rings and amulets in silence. The sun is starting to sink above them, casting new shadows and making it easier to avoid each other’s gaze. Anders has an odd urge to thank Fenris, but he resists it.

“Should you find yourself… lacking… again,” Fenris says finally. “You needn’t let it become so dire. Anyone would be glad to put you in your place, mage.”

Anders risks a glance at his face. “Why, are you suggesting you’d like to do this again sometime?”

This time, the gap is so long and so awkward that Anders thinks he may have at last gone too far. But, after almost a full minute, Fenris replies.

“I wouldn’t object.”

And as Anders turns away to head back towards the camp, he can’t stop the pleased smile creeping across his face.


End file.
